


If I Catch Fire

by April_Ace



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Tim Drake, Body Dysphoria, Crack Treated Seriously, Gay Tim Drake, Gen, Human Disaster Tim Drake, Jason Todd Has Feelings, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd-centric, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Tim Drake, Scars, Self-Esteem Issues, Tim Drake Has Feelings, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, no beta we die like jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:15:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26364760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Ace/pseuds/April_Ace
Summary: Jay is shy about his scars and thinks he's ugly. Tim has a different opinion.
Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 30
Kudos: 373





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the DC Kinkmeme: "Jason thinks he looks horrible with all those scars, so he avoids taking any clothes off in front of other people. When he absolutely has to do it, for like an injury or something, he acts all carelessly and tries to get finished as fast as possible, talking about literally anything else, trying to hide how uncomfortable he really is. Someone makes him a genuine complement at some point, and he thinks he's being made fun of, so he leaves, leaving the other person wondering what made him so upset all of a sudden."
> 
> I made Tim the chatterbox instead of Jay but I hope it works. Jay/Tim very mildly, like they don't even smooch. They just have a lot of feelings. 
> 
> Title from the Mother Mother song "Burning Pile"
> 
> *Just an update because this is the first non-porn fic I've written and it's also the one with the highest kudos and bookmarks, so thanks everyone for reading. And for just generally having better taste than I do.

"Fucking shitting aspidistra whore!"

"Hood, _what?"_

"There's like acid shit in these fucking plants and it eats through kevlar, just an FYFI, Replacement!"

"FYF- oh. 'For your fucking information'?"

"Fuckin' genius, nothing gets past you huh."

"OK well are you going to be alright for a minute or are you melting right now? Because it's gonna take B and N a minute to get here with the uh... you know..."

From a safe distance Jason watches Red Robin dodge around the vines of Ivy's latest monstrosity which has taken over half a city block. He's trying to clear a path for civilians to escape, weaving in and out of the vicious fronds, striking at the twisting branches and then dodging back to avoid the acid that had splashed Jason's suit. The stain is currently smoking, eating a path slowly toward Jay's chest.

Red Robin pauses, breathing hard and looks at Red Hood. It's so fucking annoying when Tim doesn't finish his sentences.

"The, uhm... Bat... flamethrowers. Yeah. Bat-flamethrowers." The kid clears his throat, clearly embarrassed, and Jay rolls his eyes under his helmet. Tim could have just said "the flamethrowers", but somehow he has to torture his own awkward-ass self with the embarassing bat-naming convention. Not every god damn thing has to be the bat-whatever. Tim acts like Dick will bat-slap his little bitch-face if Tim doesn't wholly commit to every commandment of bat-dogma.

Before he can express his bat-feelings about Tim's bat-idiocy, Batman himself interrupts over the comms. The man had clearly been keeping track of the conversation.

"ETA one minute. Red Robin, get Red Hood to safety and assess his wounds. Nightwing and I will take over with Ivy."

"Got it," Tim muttered and moved to Red Hood's side, immediately prodding at the growing hole in the front of Jason's uniform. Jay resists the automatic urge to push Red Robin away; he's actually a little freaked by the thought of the acid reaching his skin. He doesn't need any more damn scars. 

They're heading into an alley, Jay just following Tim who seems to have a destination in mind. They're close to Chinatown, not Jay's territory.

"Can you take this off now?" Tim asks, indicating Jay's chest.

"No."

"OK, well I have a stocked safehouse a few minutes from here. If we run."

They ran.

By the time they get inside the safehouse, a tiny apartment above a disused butcher shop, Jason was itching to get out of his uniform top.

Literally itching; more like burning really, burning and itchy and fucking _sizzling -_

Jason snarls viciously and rips his helmet off, then practically tears the armour and shirt off, throwing them to the ground where they'll probably burn a hole through the carpet and fall into shop below. 

_Who the fuck cares?!_

Looking down at his chest is the usual horror show. He hates to see the mess of badly healed and misshapen scars, the worst being the huge Y-shaped autopsy scar sprawling across his entire torso.

The skin on his belly is red where the acid stain had seeped through, and looks like it's starting to blister in places.

Just great, another ugly fucking scar to look at.

Jay blinks hard. It burns like hell.

"Is that painful?"

Fuck, Tim. He'd practically forgotten the other vigilante, and somehow Tim is standing _right there_ in front of Jay, leaning in to look closely at the burn, his pointed nose inches from Jay's chest.

At Jason's flinch of surprise, Tim absently lays his hand on Jason's exposed shoulder to hold him steady while he examines the burn. His cool hand on Jay's heated skin feels almost like another burn; it's been a long time since Jason had allowed someone to touch his bare torso.

Or look at his chest under full light.

Oblivious to Jay's growing panic, Tim impatiently repeats his question.

"Yeah. It burns." Jay mumbles. He battles down the mixture of humiliation and defensive rage that he always feels when people see his bare skin.

Tim walks away, nodding. "OK, I have some neutralising agent here that should work on a burn like this, I hope; at least it looks similar to acid we've seen Ivy use before but that stuff didn't burn through kevlar so I don't know? It's worth trying anyway. I read that burns are serious if they don't hurt at all, like nerve damage or something, so in a way it's good that it hurts..."

Tim's babbling all through collecting the supplies and coming back to Jay laden with latex gloves and cotton swabs and bandages.

"... I'll have to look into some new type of armour, or maybe we can develop a protective coating that resists acids like this, what do you think Jay? I'll keep your armour here and see what I can learn about the acid unless B remembered to collect some direct from the plant..."

Tim's applying the neutralising agent to the wound and Jason feels immediate lessening of the pain. Tim takes note of his reaction and continues mopping him up, rabbiting away the whole time.

"...and I've got one of Kon's t-shirts around here that should fit you once I've got this bandaged." He finishes. Oh thank god, the clone's clothes will definitely fit Jay, unlike scrawny Replacement's size-zero twink-gear. He's feeling extremely exposed and dreading the moment Tim's focus pulls back enough to take note of - and comment on - Jay's beat-ass body.

But Tim seems not to see anything besides the wound, and once it's bandaged he immediately gets up and goes off to find the clone's shirt.

Alone for the moment, Jay calms himself down. Of course Tim wouldn't notice Jay's scars, this is Tim Falls-Asleep-on-a-Rollercoaster Drake. He's like a weird caffeine-driven zombie android. If it's not a task on the endless to-do list in his brain, he doesn't care. He's a lot like Bruce in that way.

Tim walks back in, having changed into civvies himself. He's examining the XL shirt in his hands critically and somehow _still talking_.

"Hm, it's not really your style but I can't see that it would jeopardise your identity, and you only need to make it back to your place, and - Oh, fuck! Holy crap, Jason!"

Tim's looking straight at him, and Jay feels his stomach drop to the fucking floor. The zombie android noticed. He's staring at Jay and finally seeing how disgusting and fucking repulsive he is.

Tim points a finger urgently at Jay, who is about fucking ready to seriously strangle him rather than hear bear being laughed at for this, Tim's going to give him shit about this like anyone sane would -

"Do NOT tell Dick about the anti-acid coating for the kevlar! He'll make us call it 'bat-wax' or something, and urgh, if I have to hear him ask if I've bat-waxed my chest piece I'll just have to go far far away and HANG myself."

Tim shudders with disgust, actually wringing his hands. "God, why am I like this? Why can't I be normal? Why doesn't anyone else think the bat-name thing is so cringe? It is CREEPY, right? It can't just be me."

"Yeah, it's stupid, those guys are idiots - Tim? The shirt?"

"Oh yeah, here." Tim chucks it at him without seeming to notice Jay's desperation to be clothed.

Jay catches the shirt and hurriedly pulls it on. Then he takes a look at the image on the front.

It's a portrait of a bearded man in shades of hot pink with a rainbow shooting from one side of his head. The caption, also in hot pink, says "Pink Freud: Dark Side of Your Mom".

"The clone seriously wears this?"

Tim wrinkles his nose but laughs. He's fetched a couple of beers from the little kitchen; evidently this is a very well-stocked safe house.

"Well, thanks for cleaning me up, and the shirt. It's better than nothing." Jay sighs, cracking open his beer and taking a sip. Tim drops onto the couch and looks up at where Jay stands leaning next to the window.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Tim replies with a small smile.

"What." Jay says flatly. Tim just shrugs at him, still smiling a little weirdly. 

"Oh you know... you're just so..." Tim gestures broadly at all of Jay as if that's an actual answer. The dumb fucking kid is snickering and turning red.

Jay's turning red too, temper rising inexorably.

"Just so **_what_** , Replacement?" He snarls. Tim looks at him uncertainly, startled by the angry tone.

"Uhm. Hot."

Jay is so stunned by this unexpected pronouncement that for a moment he can't even process it. Awkwardly, Tim rushes to fill the silent void, blushing harder than ever and trying to laugh in a disarming way.

"I mean, wow - shirtless Jason Todd in my apartment? Steph'll be jealous when I tell her." 

Tim looks alarmed at what he must read in Jay's expression.

"Not that I'd tell her! Fuck, sorry, I'm bad at this."

"Bad at what?" Jay asks numbly. He wants to punch Tim's stupid face in until the idiot stops talking. He wants to run away and never be seen again. He wants the armour back on.

"I dunno - complimenting? I suck." _Complimenting?_

Did the Replacement think he was an idiot? Did he seriously think Jason didn't know when he was being made fun of? Jason looks like _shit._ He'd gotten blown the fuck up in a warehouse and then butterflied open and sewn back together by some first year undertaker's assistant! He looks like Boris Karloff's Frankenstein, but in high definition instead of grainy black and white!

He's barely aware of throwing his mostly-full beer bottle into the wall over Tim's head. There's a green haze creeping into the edges of his vision.

Tim doesn't flinch when the glass and beer rain down over him and the couch. He's watching Jason warily, all traces of the blush gone.

"I don't want your fucking 'compliments', _Pretender_ " Jason says in a low growl.

He feels Tim's throat rising and falling as he swallows under Jay's hand. He can't remember moving at all, but somehow he's leaning over Tim now, one hand pinning him to the couch by his throat.

Tim is holding very, very still, looking up at Jason. He licks his lips nervously.

"I'm sorry, Jay. I didn't mean to flirt - I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable..."

Jay barely hears this, too busy trying not to crush Tim's throat with his bare hand. He feels Tim's pulse racing under his finger tips, his adam's apple bobbing under Jay's palm as he swallows again. He feels something else too, an uneven ridge of flesh traveling from right to left under his palm.

From ear to ear.

It's the scar, Jay's scar, the one he left on Tim, when Jay had slit Tim's throat open.

The next thing Jay's aware of is grappling between buildings halfway between Chinatown and his own territory.

He can't remember leaving the safehouse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadboys Tim and Jason continue to misunderstand each other.

"You are such a fuckboy."

"I'm not a fuckboy."

"You're a god damn fuckboy Tim, you have no respect for me at all. And I can prove it with reasoned arguments since I know that makes your balls tingle."

Steph straightens up from where she's brushing broken glass from the couch into a dustpan and faces Tim.

"First of all, you brought a guy back to my safehouse - _my_ safehouse, Tim, not _your_ safehouse, you piece of shit, and not just any guy; the guy who tries to kill you whenever you open your basic bitch mouth-"

"You have the most extensive medical supplies, and Jay hasn't tried to kill me in years-"

" _And_ you burn an acid hole in my carpet and permanently wrecked the floor-"

"Blame Ivy for that! Half the eastside of Chinatown melted by the time the fires were put out-"

" _Then_ , you give the guy who wants to kill you one of my very expensive special imported beers-"

"I'll buy you a brewery-"

"Which he spilled all over my knopparp!"

"All over- what?"

"MY KNOPPARP!" Steph rages, whapping Tim with the brush. "MY KNOPPARP, TIM!"

"Wha- the couch? Stop screaming knopparp at me!"

"Yes! The couch I bought with my own money! And don't you dare tell me you could buy me a hundred couches tomorrow!" She snapped, waggling an angry finger at him.

Tim rolls his eyes, although he had been planning to tell her just that.

"Worst of all, you gave away my t-shirt to Psycho Killer, qu'est-ce que c'est."

This last accusation was too much for Tim.

"That was Kon's shirt!"

"He forfeited it when he left it here after last movie night! No one asked him to strip for the dance scenes in Magic Mike."

Steph forcefully dumps the pan of broken glass into the bin and glares at Tim.

"But the reason you're a fuckboy is that you did all that and _made a pass at Jason!_ You used MY home and MY beer and MY giant himbo tee to try and get your dick wet!"

"I wasn't flirting!" Tim snapped, and then flops onto the stained couch, leaning back with his hands over his forehead. He's got a dozen little cuts and scratches from the beer bottle smashing over him last night. His throat is sore from the bruising hold, and swallowing hurts because _feelings._

"I wasn't purposely flirting" he says quietly.

Steph snorts.

"You spent too many of your formative years with Dick, he's a bad influence. Just because _he_ gets away with flirting with anyone, doesn't mean _you_ should try it" she grumbles, but in a softer tone so Tim knows she's not really mad. For a little while they clean in silence, then just sit side by side on the ruined knopparp.

Tim had called his ex girlfriend after Jason fled via the window the previous night, and she came to the safehouse first thing in the morning to yell at him. He's had hours already to kick himself for being such an idiot; yeah, Jason is really fucking hot, but that doesn't mean Tim had to say anything!

"Now that he knows I'm into guys it's just another reason for him to hate me," he mutters, admitting the very worst part. "We were getting along great right up until I said that. I thought he might hang out, watch some TV and maybe we'd order a pizza or something. I was just psyched to spend time with him outside the mask and got carried away." Steph makes a tsking noise and leans her head on his shoulder.

"Well, I'm mad at you - you're buying me couches and beer, by the way - but even you have to see that you're not the asshole in this situation, right? I can say from personal experience that no one could mistake your awkward, fumble-flirting for aggressive sexual harassment. You _barely_ flirted with him and he nearly ripped your dumb head off. Even for him that seems like a major overreaction."

Tim hums noncommitally. It _had_ seemed like a big overreaction from Jay, a guy who spent his time as Robin trying to make things safer for sex workers and teenage runaways, many of whom were gay or bi or trans. Tim never would have thought _Jason Todd_ would be a bigot.

 _It's because it was me,_ the traitorous little voice in his head hisses. _He was disgusted because it was **me** hitting on him..._

"Hey," Steph nudges Tim with her shoulder. "Turn your brain off."

***

It's more than a month before Red Robin runs into Red Hood again. One minute he's finishing up a quiet patrol, the next Oracle is summoning him to help quell a street fight that had apparently been started by Condiment King and Mister Polka-Dot. 

And in another minute, he's fighting side by side with the Red Hood.

Red Robin dodges a polka-dot projectile that resembles a spinning buzz-saw, but fumbles the move as he slides in a pool of mustard. At the last moment a strong hand yanks him back to his feet and out of the way of the projectile.

"You OK?" Hood asks gruffly.

"I'm good. Thanks." Tim smiles and Hood nods, and they get back to the fight.

Later, they sit on a rooftop overlooking the scene as the GCPD collects the zip-stripped sauce-stained combatants, who seem to be mostly half-drunken football fans who somehow got caught up in a fight between two minor league rogues.

"I wonder what the hell that was all about." Jay mused. Both he and Tim are covered in ketchup and mustard.

"Um, I dunno if this is true, but I heard that Mister Polka-Dot and Professor Milo were a thing? And then Milo dumped him and hooked up with Condiment King, so..." He gestured at the messy scene before them.

"You're shitting me. Really?"

"That's what I heard." Tim shrugged, grinning. There's still some tension between them, but Jay nearly strangling him over a badly-phrased compliment seems a million years ago instead of a few weeks. 

There's nothing left for them to do at the scene but neither of them move until well after the cops have cleared the street. In the ensuing quiet, Jason takes off his helmet.

"Hey, Tim."

Tim looked back at him, waiting.

"I'm sorry."

Jay looks uncomfortable but also sincere. Tim felt his heart lifting.

"No, I'm sorry," Tim replies earnestly. "I shouldn't have said that to you. I didn't mean anything by it!"

"I shouldn't have freaked out like that, after you helped me and I don't know how you can even fucking look at me after... all the shit I did to you."

Tim's hand jumps to his throat reflexively to finger the scar there. He catches Jay's wince and rushes to reassure him.

"It doesn't bother me. Honestly Jay - I don't care about all that. And I'm just glad you let me help you! And also that you obviously didn't tell Dick about the kevlar acid wax since he hasn't started asking about it..."

He's rambling a bit, trying to keep the conversation light and positive. Thankfully, Jay goes with it and laughs.

"Yeah I'm saving that for the next time you piss me off. That reminds me," he murmurs, leaning in toward Tim with a wicked grin. "Have you bat-waxed your jock strap yet, Replacement? Will you do mine for me?"

"UGH stop! You're the worst!" Tim yells, covering his ears and blushing wildly, and then laughing good naturedly with Jay.

"Blegh, I can't wait to get cleaned up," Tim says, looking down at his condiment-covered suit in distaste. Jay nods, his handsome head in profile and Tim suddenly realises he can't let the conversation end here. He can't walk away without tying up every loose end, really clearing the air.

"I seriously didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Tim blurts out. "I don't want... this... to be the reason we don't ever hang out again."

"S'fine. It's whatever." Jay mutters reluctantly. "We're cool, Replacement, I just don't like being made fun of."

What?

"Um... I wasn't making fun of you. When I said... what I said. I meant it." Tim replies with considerable apprehension. He doesn't want a repeat of the last time he'd called Jay "hot".

Jay gets up, scowling.

"Oh, yeah. You just genuinely think I'm hot. _Right."_ He says sarcastically rolling his eyes. Then he's grabbing his helmet from the edge of the roof and walking away. Leaving.

"Jay?" Tim calls and waits until Jay faces him again. "I did mean it. Like I don't want to get my head ripped off so please don't get mad..." he says in a rush.

"But you are hot as hell. You're gorgeous - don't you know that?"

For a moment Jay looks so angry that it seems like they're really about to have a repeat of their first fight. Then he gives a mirthless bark of laughter.

"I look like chewed up roadkill! I look like _dog shit_ Replacement, so don't even try kidding me."

What the fuck was Jason talking about right now? Did he really think this about himself? Or was this a weird attempt to pretend he wasn't freaked out by Tim flirting with him?

Confused, covered in congealing sauces, Tim gets up and faces Jay, subtly moving away from the edge of the roof in case Jay flips out. Tim has no idea what to say to avoid a fight right now. 

"I don't think that. I don't understand why you're saying that about yourself."

Jay shakes his head, plainly furious with Tim but not attacking, yet.

"That's easy for you to say! _You're_ not beat to hell with a million god damn scars!" Jay throws out and Tim feels angry indignation flare up inside him despite his better sense.

"Oh, I'm not?! And you know that, how? Because I'm not a _real_ vigilante, so I don't have scars?!"

"Not like me! You don't have a fucking autopsy scar covering your whole chest!"

"OH no, you're right, Jason! I guess the scar from when my _spleen_ was _cut out of me_ doesn't cover so much of my chest as I thought, and it's not like it went straight through my back or anything! No, YOU have the monopoly on permanent scars!"

"That's fucking nothing, and if you think you look as shitty as I do it's just proof of what a fucking _pretender_ you've always been, but tell you what Replacement if you wanna really be like me then I'll be happy to gut you like a _fucking fish!"_

"Well, go right ahead, I mean if you can find a spare bit of skin on me that you _haven't already stuck a knife into!_ "

By this time both men are standing toe to toe, red in the face and breathing hard, shaking with rage. Jay is the first to break away, turning to the roof top entrance door and slamming his fist into it. 

"God, fuck! You are such a little shit! Fuck this, I'm out of here!"

Before he can get two steps Red Robin tackles him into the wall.

"You're not going anywhere!" Tim yells resolutely, holding Jason in a pin. "We're not done here until your dumbass believes I think you're _fucking beautiful!"_

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Jason roars, then tightening his grip on the helmet he's still holding onto, he swings it at Tim's head. Tim dodges and lets go, backing off.

What the hell is he doing? What happened to keeping the conversation light and positive? Tim has no idea why they're even arguing about who has the worst scars. All he'd wanted to do is find out whether or not Jay had a problem with Tim being gay. He has no idea how this situation got so out of control.

Jason has turned away, breathing hard.

"Jay," Tim calls quietly. "I'm sorry. Um. I don't know what the hell happened," he tries, but Jay won't look at him. As he watches, Jay lifts the helmet up but before he clicks it into place, Tim thinks he wipes his eyes.

Shit.

Then the helmet is on and the Red Hood's distorted voice is saying, "Whatever. I'm leaving."

Tim watches him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt that the initial prompt fill was very open ended, so here is another very open ended chapter. I feel like this might turn into a thing, but I have no plan for further chapters except to eventually get to a happy ending, and to resist at all costs my tendency towards excessive crack in an angst fic.


	3. Chapter 3

Jay's showering with the lights off.

His current apartment is basic and plain, and he'd chosen it primarily because the bathroom consisted of just a sink, toilet and shower stall, with no window to let light in, and no mirrors.

With a wooden-backed scrubbing brush he can clean the dirt from his skin without having to feel all the bumps and dips and ridges of the many scars that seem to cover him from neck to foot. Once he's finished, he'll dry off with the towel hanging over the stall. Then he'll take two steps to the door and find the soft hoodie and sweatpants he'd left hanging there when he entered. In the dark, he'll get dressed, then out into the apartment to drink a cup of green tea before bed.

The shower is quiet, and warm, and dark.

Then from somewhere in the apartment he hears a crash and a muffled yelp.

In a flash Jay slides out of the shower without turning the water off, grabbing the pistol from the top of the medicine cabinet and quietly opens the bathroom door.

From down the hall comes shifting, thumping noises and disgruntled muttering. Jay burst into the living room, pistol cocked at the intruder under the window.

"Wrong apartment, asshole!"

"Um. Hi..."

Red Robin blinked rapidly up at Jay from the floor where he's hopelessly tangled in the ruined venetian blinds.

"Replacement?!"

"Um. Naked. You're, um."

Jay bolts back to the bathroom, cursing Tim profoundly. He slams the door and leans against it, breathing heavily in the dark.

Fucking Tim.

Jay turns the running shower off and grabs the towel, drying himself quickly and then hurrying into his clothes. Thinking about his last few interactions with Tim, he wishes he had _more_ clothes to put on.

With the water off he can clearly hear Tim trying to call him back while obviously struggling to extract himself from the blinds. Sighing, Jay heads back to the living room.

May as well see what the little shit wants now.

***

For a while he just watches Red Robin struggle.

Some of the slats of the venetian blinds had snapped when Tim evidently tried to force his way through them once he had the window open. The pointed metal breaks have snagged in his cape, pulling it over his head when he'd tried to free himself to chase after Jason. One arm is trapped between the slats; the sharp points along the outside of his gauntlet catching every time Tim tries to pull it free. One foot is caught in the curtain pull cord, and whenever Tim kicks out it causes the blinds to contract erratically around him. From under the cape he can hear Tim muttering and swearing and plaintively calling for Jason's help.

Jason kind of wants to get his phone out and start filming this debacle, but as annoyed as he is he can't ignore the blood the Replacement is dripping everywhere as he rolls around the floor.

"You're a fucking disaster, kid," he grumbles, pulling a switchblade from his sweatpants as he makes his way over. "Hold still." Tim obeys and Jay saws through the pull cord until the blinds loosen. He helps the idiot disentangle himself, and then Tim is pulling off his domino and blinking up at him.

"Thanks."

Jay shrugs, examining the blinds.

"These aren't that sharp," he says, gesturing at the broken slats. "How the fuck are you bleeding this much?"

"What? Oh! No, this is from before. I got stabbed." Tim replies, indicating over his shoulder. "It's um, on my back? I can't reach it to stitch up and I didn't want to bother you, like, at all, but you were the closest when it happened, so..."

Jay just shakes his head. He tells Tim to take his uniform top off and then leaves to get the medical kit from the kitchennette. On the way back he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, hands it to Tim.

Tim smiles his thanks, takes a drink. He's sitting on the heavy wooden coffee table, conscientiously avoiding dripping blood on the pale blue sofa. Tim looks at his bloody uniform top and cape left balled up on the wreckage of venetian blinds and winces.

"I'll clean that up before I go."

Jay ignores him, sitting on the edge of the couch. Up close, the wound looks bad - the knife must have slid in under the scapula somehow. A difficult feat considering the kid wears a floor length stab-proof cape. He begins cleaning the cut.

"I really appreciate the help."

"No problem. So, I was the closest person who could stitch you up?"

"Uh huh." 

Jay begins stitching the wound.

"So, when you got stabbed on your patrol route, which is across town from here, there was no one closer to you who could have helped?"

"...Nope."

"Replacement. Were you patrolling in my fucking neighbourhood when I specifically told all you bats to stay the fuck out?"

"No!" Tim exclaims. Jay pulls the current stitch a little harder than strictly necessary. "Ow! No, Jay I swear!" Tim's turned halfway around to face Jay with an earnest expression he can hardly look at, so he pushes him back to face away.

"You better fuckin' not have been," he grumbles, and continues stitching Tim up.

He finishes the work in silence and then puts a sterile bandage over the injury.

He'd been fully prepared to kick Tim out the second the wound care was over, but instead he finds his eyes sliding down from the injured shoulder to a knot of scar halfway down Tim's back. It was a big wound, he can see, and badly healed. This must be what Tim had talked about that other night, the stab that had cost him an entire organ.

Now that he's not focused on the immediate injury, he notices the other scars on Tim's back. There are many. He recognises the usual bullet wounds and stabs, but there are injuries less easy to identify - burns and claw marks and pitted, discoloured skin where flesh had been gouged out. Feeling dizzy, he's raised his hand to _trace the scars_ _on Tim's back, holy shit_ when Tim suddenly speaks.

"OK, fine; I did get stabbed in your neighbourhood. But I wasn't patrolling!" Tim's facing away and doesn't see Jay guiltily snatching his hand back. He's looking down at the water bottle clasped in his hands.

"I was coming over the apologise for losing my freaking mind the other night and saying all that crazy shit. I wanted to apologise way before now but I kept losing the nerve... so I just came straight from patrol, before I could chicken out again. I'm really, really sorry I upset you. I mean, obviously I think you're really attractive, I meant it when I said you're hot but I _didn't mean anything by it_! I wasn't hitting on you, or trying to get in your pants or whatever! But I won't do it again, OK? So can we just please go back to the way things were before, where we just give each other shit on patrol and never interact otherwise? I don't think we're good at it."

_Obviously I think you're really attractive._

Jason can't speak. He expects to feel angry and embarrassed as he usually does whenever people try to talk to him about his appearance, but he's watching the way Tim's scars shift with the rhythm of his breathing. And it's just _too fucking weird._ Because although Tim has never died, he really is covered in scars, like Jason is.

For a moment he feels bad, almost like crying, because he and Tim are 23 and 21. And they're covered in war wounds. But unlike real soldiers they have to keep their scars hidden away, to protect the secret.

He pushes away the old rage at Bruce before it can drag him down. Tim is waiting to hear what he'll say. But Jay can't think of what to say so he grips Tim's shoulder and pulls him until they're facing each other.

Tim looks inquiringly at him, but stays quiet as Jay just looks at his body. Tim has the barest smattering of black hair over his chest and trailing down his flat belly. Off to the side is the big scar from the spleen injury, and more stab wounds and burns and an uneven collection of indents toward his left armpit that looks like an animal bite. Some injuries look many years old; some as recent as this month. 

He looks into Tim's face and doesn't see a hint of shame at being half-naked. He just looks politely worried.

Jay doesn't know what to think, because Tim's _not_ ugly. His complexion is clear and bright, even in spite of the dark circles under his pale blue eyes and the premature worry lines on his forehead. His eyebrows are dark and straight, and his cheekbones are high. His shoulders are broad and he's well-proportioned for his small size, built like a runner or a clean-living knife fighter. He's disfigured by scars... but he looks good. 

Jason makes eye contact with the other vigilante and suddenly remembers that earlier tonight Tim saw him completely fucking naked.

"Do you really think I'm hot?" Jay blurts out. 

"Uh, yeah? Of course I do." Tim sound confused, like this should be obvious. "But I'm not hitting on you!" He adds firmly.

More confused than ever, Jay asks, "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because... you're mad at me for trying to hit on you?"

"What the fuck? No I'm not!"

"What the fuck do you mean, 'what the fuck'?! You threw a freaking tantrum at me for being gay at you! You practically strangled me when I said I think you're hot!"

Jay jumps to his feet, incensed. "I did not ' _practically strangle'_ you!" He snaps.

"And last time you almost threw me off a roof just because I said you're beautiful!" Tim yells, jumping up too.

"That's a god damn exaggeration, you fucking drama queen! I don't have a problem with gay people!"

"No, it's just me you hate!" Tims bursts, furious and upset. "You just think I'm disgusting!" Tim snatches up his mask and the bundle of bloody costume, turns to the window. He's going to leave, and Jay is _infuriated_ that, once again, **_this stupid fucking argument_** has gotten the better of them.

He grabs Tim's arm, causing him to drop the bloody items all over his couch.

" _I'm_ disgusting!" He shouts, shaking Tim's arm. "I don't care that you're gay! I was mad because I thought you were laughing at me!" Tim's mouth drops open in surprise and Jay lets him go, puts his hands over his face and just _breathes._

Silently they stand there. 

"You really think you're ugly? Because of the scars?" Tim asks quietly. Jay nods, not looking at him.

"Do you want me to go?" Tim asks, eyeing the window. Jay just shrugs.

"I don't care, Tim."

"Then I'll stay for a bit."

Jason sighs and clears the bits of Tim's suit off the couch so they can sit down, then they just stand there observing the blood stains smearing the fabric.

"Shit." Tim murmurs. "I just remembered I was supposed to buy Steph a new couch."

They sit down anyway, and Jay thinks about getting Tim a shirt to wear, but in spite of how upset he is right now, he wants to keep looking at the other man's scars.

After a few minutes he notices Tim is looking at him while he looks at Tim's exposed skin.

"How can that not bother you? I..." Jay swallows, looks down. "I can't stand seeing myself. Hate when people are lookin' at me."

Tim sighs, casting around for something to say. Jay can feel his stomach twisting into knots. He's never admitted that to anyone before, and he can't help dreading what Tim will say.

"I hate my nose," Tim blurts. "It's too big."

Jason doesn't know how to react to this ludicrous statement, but Tim rushes on.

"I want to get a nose job, but two seconds after I do I just _know_ Vikki Vale will publish a story about how I'm ashamed of my 'Jewish heritage', which isn't fair because that's just a stereotype and anyway I'm like one-quarter Jewish on my Mother's side, and I got this fucking nose from my Protestant _Dad._ But I still somehow feel guilty when I think about changing it!"

Totally taken aback by this _ridiculous fucking idiot,_ Jay starts cackling incredulously as Tim continues.

"I keep hoping a rogue will break my nose so I'll have an excuse to change it up, like how the fuck do they keep missing it? When I was a kid I kept thinking that one day I'd grow into it, but it fucking _outgrew me_ , Jason!"

Jay can barely breathe, he's wheezing so hard. Now that the tension has broken, he feels close to hysteria.

"And you know Bruce had Alfred make domino masks special to fit my face?"

"NO! That's too fucking much, Replacement!"

Tim nods as he carries on, "Mhm, the standard ones you all wear won't fit over the bridge of my nose anymore; also I know Bruce is worried that one day Red Robin will be in the same room as someone who knows Tim Drake and they'll instantly recognise me and all our covers will be blown by my stupid stork face."

Tim watches dispassionately as Jay doubles over laughing at this.

"And Jay I realise that you have serious trauma associated with your scars, and I feel that, but just imagine for a minute what it's like to catch Bruce staring at your profile when he thinks you don't notice, and see him wondering how to say anything about it without body shaming you, and then he just sighs and turns away? Jay, it's fucking painful."

They're both laughing now, red-faced and tearing up from trying to talk and laugh at the same time.

They calm down by degrees, laughter trailing off into sniggers. Tim wipes his eyes, shaking his head. Jay lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, feeling wrung out. 

He never knows if a conversation with Tim will end in bloodshed or laughter. That kind of uncertainty can be overwhelming.

But he's not sure he hates it.

"I don't think your nose is that big." He tells Tim, relaxing back into the couch.

"Well, I don't think your scars are that bad," Tim replies, mirroring Jay's position and grinning.

Jay hums thoughtfully. And without any fanfare, he takes Tim's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
